I'm Breaking Down
by SerpentsAttire
Summary: SamWill WillSam slash. Post 1st movie. Sam's fallen into depression after Mission City, and his health is declining. Ironhide comes up with a possible solution, the rest of the Autobots agree. Lemon with a plot.
1. Part One

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. I did not write this story to be slander, nor do I make any profit from it._

_**Warnings:** AU, slash, sexual situations between two men._

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**Part One**

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He's sitting on a cracked stool in some rundown bar with a cliched name, a warm and sweating glass of Coke in his hand, because even if his eyes scream that he's seen the world, his facial features are enough to tell the waitress he's underage. His gaze is dull and focused on nothing, the shadows under his eyes proof enough that he hasn't been getting enough sleep to keep his body running.

Not that he gives a shit, anyway. All he cares about is that the glass in his hand is too warm and too tame to help him escape whatever the hell it is he's running from, and that he's surrounded by other unfortunate insomniacs who are glaring at him as though he has invaded their territory. Like they could crack his skull in half without much effort.

He would like to see them try that, honestly. Because if some murderous, evil robot couldn't do it, then the expressions on their faces when they realized they couldn't, either, would be well worth it.

And God knew Sam Witwicky can use a laugh right now, even if it is at something stupid.

He tenses at the brush of a hand on his shoulder -- jerks around to the sight of a surprised, blonde-haired waitress with far too much make-up on. She forces her shock back quickly enough, plastering a fake smile on her face.

"I think your ride's here, honey," she says gently, but all he can hear is a disgusted snarl. He doesn't blame her, really. He must look as terrible as he feels. "A yellow Camero? Keeps flashing it's lights and honking..."

Bee.

"Yeah, that's me." He doesn't even bother to thank her as he stands up, fishing in his pocket for just a minute before withdrawing the ten his father had given him for the arcade with Miles. He snorts and shakes his head as he drops it on the bar and heads towards the door. He can't remember the last time he played video games.

Probably last month, before this whole thing started.

Sure enough, Bee is waiting for him in the parking lot, engine rumbling soothingly as the passenger door swings open to let him in. He enters without a word, sighing as it slams shut, saying nothing as the Autobot Camero takes off to the dark road.

He doesn't ask where they are going, just curls up against the flawless leather seat as they go, trying valianty to keep his eyes from closing at the lull of his car. Bumblebee flips the radio on a few minutes into the drive, flipping through various channels, pausing occasionally to see if there is one Sam wants.

He says nothing. Just burrows deeper into the seat and stares out the window.

He few minutes later, and he recognizes the roar of Optimus' semi-truck -- a quick glance in the rearview confirms his guess and reveals Ratchet as well.

"We are concerned." Bee answers his unspoken disgruntlement with a rough voice. "There is something wrong with you."

"There is nothing _wrong_ with me, Bee," he responds softly. The stars are practically dancing in the overhead sky. "I'm just tired."

Static briefly rolls over the radio, Bumblebee's equivalent of a snort.

"Ironhide came up with a solution. After much thought, Optimus and I agreed. Ratchet is coming along to make sure that it works." And that catches Sam's attention, because there should really be no reason that a human requires alien medical attention, no matter the circumstance.

"Bumblebee-," he starts to warn, but is cut off by a blaring rock song on the radio. Muse. How appropriate.

They ride like that for a little while longer, and by the time they stop Sam is physically banging his head against the headrest of the seat to stay awake. It's with a start that he recognizes Will Lennox's house -- the creamy white walls and dirt-covered grass. The garden is fading without Sarah's touch, he notices, but then remembers that Sarah and Will's daughter, Annabelle, aren't there anymore.

"Sam?"

The passenger door has opened, like a doorway just for him. At the same time, the porch light turns on, basking the path from Bee to the front door in a dim, welcoming glow. He can barely see Will's frame against the screen door.

But he sees it all the same.

"Get out, Sam."

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**To be continued**

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_Drop a review and lemme know what you're thinking about it, please? I'll have part two up soon ... how many parts would **you** like it to be? :)_

_Always,_

_Me_


	2. Part Two

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. I did not write this story to be slander, nor do I make any profit from it._

_**Notes: **Thank you guys so much for your wonderful reviews. They were very insightful and inspiring, and I appreciate that you took the time to review. :) Hope y'all had a wonderful April Fools (ha)._

_**Warnings:** AU, slash, sexual situations between two men._

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**Part Two**

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He's sitting on his couch, elbows resting on his knees, and damn it all to hell if it doesn't feel as pathetic of a position as he's sure it looks. There are no lights on, the only light provided is from the moon. But Captain Will Lennox likes it that way -- likes the little calm, gloomy atmosphere he's set up for himself. Suits just fine, just fine for the past month -- since Sarah had taken Anabelle, at his insistence, and raced away from this mess of Cybertronian sentient robots to protect them both. She had protested hard, his Sarah.

Bitterly, he wonders how hard she would be protesting now, knowing what he was about to do.

Will doesn't have a problem with Ironhide's plan -- he knows that the alien has done extensive study on human psychology, and he knows that, as a soldier himself, Ironhide also understands PTSD in ways others cannot. When the weapon's specialist had come to him, explaining Sam's condition, Will already knew what was wrong with the teenager, and what was being asked of him. He had accepted immediately -- he could deny nothing for the kid that had saved their entire planet at risk to himself. He would do anything to help him. He had said as much to Ironhide.

_"And maybe it will help you as well."_Ironhide had rumbled in response.

Will still doesn't know what that means, or at least he likes to pretend he doesn't.

There's a low rumbling not too far off, deep enough to be from a large source, and moments later it's followed by other, smaller ones. He's standing before the beams of headlights can even be seen through his windows, making his way toward the door and resting against the screen. His skin gets a little clammy when he sees the familiar golden form of a perfected Camaro pull gently over the dirt and gravel of his driveway, and he is almost certain he can spot the small, huddled form of Sam in the driver seat as the passenger door swings open.

He winces when, seconds later, the lanky teen slides out and stumbles, looking far worse than Ironhide had described. The door shuts and the Camaro backs up, leaving Sam looking more than a little lost. Immediately feeling a pulse of sympathy, Will quickly and quietly pushes the screen door open, slipping into the chilly air as Sam manages to right himself. He looks up, and their eyes lock. Will stops just at the edge of the porch steps.

"Hey, Captain." He hears Sam mutter, and for some reason his chest tightens as the younger male inches toward the same steps. "I, uh..." Sam seems to struggle with himself. "Look, I don't know what they're up to. They do have a knack for being trouble makers. Blew a transformer at my house once. Uh, no pun intended, or anything -- that is what the government calls them, right? Transformers?" The kid's rambling. "I don't know what they said or anything, but they probably blew it way out of the field. Didn't mean to bother you--"

"Shut up, Sam." And Will says it not because he's tired of the endless stream of words, but because Sam's voice is getting lighter and lighter as he speaks, his throat obviously dry and no doubt scratchy. Doe brown eyes widen as they look at him in shock. "Come on inside and get some water," he adds with just a hint of gruffness. "And I know why you're here."

Slowly, obviously reluctant, Sam obeys the command like Will knew he would. He watches the smaller frame as it passes by him -- notices it's more thin than the first time he saw Sam, and that's not a good thing, because the teenager was too skinny then. He turns to follow, grasping the cool metal of the door lever, when Bumblebee's voice lightly calls out.

"We'll be right here." Awkward.

"I know," he replies.

"I'll be watching for problems," Ratchet adds as Bumblebee's headlights fade out.

"Thanks."

More awkward.

When Will enters his house, it's to the sound of the faucet running, dimmed momentarily by falling into a cup before being shut off completely. For the first time of the day, the light's on, and it hurts his eyes a bit. But he sees Sam downing the warm tapped liquid like it's a shot of absinthe, his eyes tightly shut and hand clenching the plastic cup so tightly that if it were made out of glass it would have broken, so he pushes the pain aside. The water's gone quickly, but Will just leans against the door frame of the kitchen and watches as Sam lets it fall into the sink, his dirty hands clenching the counter as his head bows. His shoulders shudder slightly, and Will speaks quietly.

"When's the last time you slept for more than an hour?"

He doesn't need the answer, not really. He knows what Sam's going through -- he's been there. He'd be surprised if Sam has even slept five hours in the past week. So when Sam simply scoffs at the question, he lets it slide.

"We gonna sit here and have a 'talk' about this?" Sam asks bitterly, throwing his head back to pop his neck, eyes opening once more to glare. Will's not affected.

"Actually." He smirks. "I was thinking about maybe moving into the living room, where the couch is." The glare intensifies. "But yes, Sam. We are going to talk about it."

"There's really nothing to talk about." Sam's hand dips into the hollow of the sink to withdraw the cup, his other reaching over to pull open the door of the dishwasher. He arches an eyebrow at all of the dirty dishes -- some obviously more than a few days old -- but puts the cup in there regardless. "I mean, c'mon. It was like a scene from a sci-fi movie. A 3-D sci-fi movie." Another scoff. "I never freaked out after watching those, never gave a shit about what the characters were feeling during or after. And I totally _didn't_ have trouble sleeping after."

"You're angry."

"I'm _pissed._" Will pushes away from the doorway and slowly moves toward him.

"But you're also scared," he says softly, watching with knowing eyes as Sam flinches at the words. "And you're horrified. And you feel more than just a little guilty, because a lot of people died that day. And you feel that if you hadn't been there, or if you hadn't tried to sell those damn glasses, that none of this would have happened." He's nearly on Sam's feet now, looking down into the brunette fuzz of a bowed head. Sam's shoulders are quivering more violently now.

"Can you stop, please?" He whispers. "I don't -- I really don't want to talk about it--."

"How many people die in your nightmares?" Will's voice is just as soft as Sam's, more gentle than emotional, his shoulders tense instead of shaking. God, but if he doesn't really get it now. Understands why Ironhide chose him instead of just talking to Sam himself. He's been in this position -- the reactions are identical. This is no longer two-dimensional, or a duty owed. He feels Sam's pain perfectly, feels it echoing in the beating of his own heart, flowing through the ribbons of his own memories. "Sam," he urges softer.

"Too many," the teen finally allows quietly. "Different people, every night. I-I hear their screams when it gets too quiet. See their faces every time my eyes close. _Every time. _Mikaela -- she didn't get it. She tried, really hard, I think. But it was too much for her, so we just ... quit. She has her own problems too. Couldn't help me with mine." Sam throws his head back and up, groaning as it falls back against the wall, his back following. "My parents wanted to send me to a shrink for depression. But how do I talk to them about this -- about alien robots who turn into cars, about war, about the people I see dying every night? They'd lock me up." Will watches silently as Sam's throat bobbles with a swallow. The shaking has moved from his shoulders down to his arms to his fingers.

"I don't think I'm fixable, Captain," he finishes dryly, the faintest outline of a tear tracing from the corner of his eye down his cheek, and that's all Will needs. Slowly, he places both of his hands on the wall, on either side of Sam's head, unsurprised when the teenager barely notices. He moves closer, just enough to feel the body heat without brushing against it, and licks his suddenly dry lips.

"Sam," he says softly, but there is no reaction. He tries again, voice more firm, like the one he uses when commanding his troop. "_Sam_." Their eyes lock again, more tears brimming. "I know, Sam." A doubtful glance. "I know all about the nightmares. I know you see people beginning you to save them, even though they didn't really do that. I know that in your dreams, they're blaming you. They're grabbing you, pulling you down, _hurting _you. And I know that you let them, because you feel you deserve it. And I know you feel guilty every time you wake up, because it means you're still alive and they're still dead." The tears that were brimming are falling now, and Sam's breath hitches.

"I just want it to stop," he whimpers, and this time he doesn't hide his face as he looks Will dead in the eye. "I want it all to stop. I need something to make it stop. _Anything_." Will nods, and slowly reaches a hand up to brush away a few tears. "Bumblebee ..." Sam hesitates, and Will gently continues the motion to assurance. "Bumblebee said you could ... help me? That Ironhide had a plan ...?" His tone is still crushed, but there is a small wave of hope that makes Will just want to pull the boy to his chest and just hold him. Instead, he simply nods again, his hand slipping away from Sam's cheek to his chin, and lifts it just enough so that their eyes stay locked.

"Sam, this important." His voice is firm again. "Yes, I can help you. But you need to trust that the Autobots would never put you in a situation that would harm you." Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Will silences him with a look. "And you need to trust _me_. More than anything for this to work, you need to trust me. Can you do that, Sam? Can you trust me?" And for a moment, silence fills the kitchen. Sam's still shaking viciously under his hand, his teeth chattering, but the look in his eyes is slowly dawning from black to light. Slowly ... hopeful. Needing. Will swallows and curses Ironhide with everything he can think of.

And then Sam nods, cautiously, but surely, a few more tears escaping his eyes. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. I can trust you." And Will stares into those eyes a few seconds longer, checking for any hidden doubts, any apprehension or insecurities. But all he sees is desperation and hope and trust, and a tinge of longing that has no source and no destination. He thumbs away another tear.

"Remember that," he urges in a plea, before his head quickly descends to crash his lips to Sam's.

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**_To be continued_**

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_Well, it's at least going to be 4 parts, maybe 5, depending on how Sam takes Will's latest action. o.O And it will have to be toned down a bit for FF posting -- the full version will have to be posted on AFF, I guess. :)_

_Anyway, if you all could do me a huge favor? I have very little experience in writing in present tense, and even less writing more than 500 words in present tense. If you see any errors, could you please point them out so that I may fix them? And, if this chapter fell short in the emotional or believability, please let me know as well. I would really, really appreciate that and any other critique ya'll can drag up._

_Reviews simply telling me you like/dislike the story are desired, too. Please click the randomly placed review button-box and let me know what you thought. :)_

_Always,_

_Me_


	3. Part Three

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. I did not write this story to be slander, nor do I make any profit from it._

_**Notes: **Shorter than last time, longer than the first._

_**Warnings:** AU, slash, sexual situations between two men, and language._

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**Part Three**

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Sam is pretty sure that Will's moved away, but the phantom tingling on his lips keeps his eyes closed as his brain struggles to understand what has just happened. He can still feel the large body in front of him, the teasing sensation of warmth that won't quite touch his own. Can sense the strong arms on either side of him, locking him, confining him, straining against wrapping around him. The penetrating glare that's mixed with hesitation and heat and more than just a little selfless concern.

"Sam?" He trembles slightly as the call ghosts over his cheek, down his neck. It's a whisper, he knows. So why does it resonate through his head like a battle cry, echoing and piercing and making him cringe?

"What was that?" He swallows, hating the equal quiet of his voice. But Will chuckles, to his surprise, and he feels a thumb brush across his cheek, forcing his eyes to flutter open on instinct. There's no sign of disgust on the captain's face -- no acknowledgement that he was forced into whatever the _hell _was going on. Just a gentle smile of care and understanding, turquoise eyes of endless compassion. Sam can't help but look away from the vulnerable intensity of it.

"A kiss," the other man offers in answer, and the thumb repeats its caress. "I asked you to trust me, Sam, and you see why now, right?"

Geeze.

"Y-yeah," he replies. Is he leaning into the soothing ministration? That's a strong possibi-- yes, yes he is. "I'm not gay, though." He says quickly. But Will just shrugs.

"That's not the point, Sam. None of this is about declaring love, or finding attraction in the same sex. It's not even about me." The hand pulls away, and Sam is pretty sure he mourns the loss of the touch. "This is all about you -- helping you, showing you that you don't always have to be so strong. No one is holding you solely responsible for anything, Sam." The fingers are back, trailing under his chin. "And no one is going to make you -- _let_ you -- carry this burden by yourself." Sam watches morbidly as Will leans forward again, chapped lips connecting with the side of his jaw. "_I_ won't let you."

A nip, and Sam can't hold back the groan the slightly sharp sensation of teeth calls forward.

"What are ... what are you ... what?" Fuck, where did his comprehension go?

"Nothing you don't want to do, Sam." Whispers, it's all whispers. The barricade of arms is now wrapped around him, holding him, slowly leading him away from the wall and forward, away from the kitchen. His eyes flutter closed again, one hand coming up subconsciously to squeeze Will's shoulder as the lips from his chin travel down his neck. He knows this isn't the best idea -- remembers everything his mother ever told him about going into strange peoples' homes and falling into ... certain activities. About people taking advantage of him and to practice some rational responsibility. He can see Mikaela's face, stunned and hurt, but ...

But he can't pull away from Will. Because maybe he's done with responsibility, and Mikaela. Maybe ... fuck, but it feels good to have someone paying some attention to him, concerned for him. He whimpers softly as Will's body crashes gently into something. And then they're moving again, stumbling, twisting until Sam's the one leading. Falling back onto cool sheets and a soft mattress that finally breaks them apart. And Sam finds himself staring up at the captain once more, taking in the glowing eyes, the lightly heaving shoulders -- all for him, all focused on him.

Shit.

"I don't ... I can't do this, Will." With the lips gone, he's suddenly able to focus, to understand what's going on. "I ... I appreciate this, but I ... I can't. I don't ..."

"Don't what, Sam?" Damn, he hates that voice. The husky whisper, the stupid eyes. Hates that Will is making him tremble in both grief and desire. Hates the spark of hope the man is bringing to him, that tonight he will be able to sleep without nightmares. He dips his head.

"I don't deserve it." He expects anger, annoyance, a departure that will leave silence in his wake and let the screams come. He expects a heavy sigh and disappointment at his admission. He expects to be left alone.

He does not expect a large body to slowly fall on top of his, forcing him to fall completely onto the mattress, Will above him. He isn't ready for the smoldering kiss, the forcefully roaming hands, the growls of dissatisfaction, or his wanton cries when fingers twist against his chest over his shirt.

"You deserve it," Will growls between kisses, and Sam shakes. "You saved aliens you barely knew, a city you didn't really care for, a planet that did nothing for. All at the cost of yourself." Another nip, pulling back just enough to be apart. Sam watches cautiously as Will watches him. "You're staying here tonight, Sam. You're going to let me help you, because you _deserve_ to be helped, and because I owe you that help." Dark eyes stare hard in the shadows of the moonlight.

"Because I want to help you." And he pulls away and leaves the room, leaving Sam to the silence of the foreign area. Tears form in his eyes as he takes in the words, the situation. He's not attracted to men, but everything Will had done had just felt so right -- so perfect. For the first time in weeks his body had felt light, his mind soothed and no longer weary or worn. The tears trail downward, tarnishing his face and blemishing the pillows. But he rolls over and ignores them, twisting atop the white sheets as he clutches a pillow to his chest. His shoulders shake, his body trembling, but his eyes still close despite the warnings, overcome with strong emotion as the voices begin.

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Will's mad, but he can do nothing as he offers a quiet assurance and hangs up his phone. He's lucky that Mr. Witwicky is a fan of bravery and commitment, and that Mrs. Witwicky is already horribly concerned over her son's health. They agreed to allow Sam to stay for as long as necessary, once they realized who was asking. Not, he was sure, that they would have been as okay with it if they knew about his healing method.

He runs both his hands through his short hair vigorously, releasing a loud sigh.

"You will have to stay with him tonight." And he is not overly surprised to hear Ironhide's voice through his window. He opens his eyes wide enough to glare at the dark space where he knows the Autobot is hiding.

"I know."

"And you will have to let him have the nightmares." Ratchet this time. "That is essential."

"Know that, too."

"I believe that the Captain knows what he is doing." Optimus this time, low and rumbly. He's playing the part of the concerned parent very well, Will notices. "We are trusting you, Will Lennox." No pressure or anything, of course.

"I know." And he turns to head back to the bedroom.

"Will?" Bumblebee, tentative and raspy. "Take care of him."

An suddenly he can see a boy about Sam's age -- lanky and pale with blonde hair and curious eyes -- standing bedside of Sam, vigilant and watchful and everything a brother should be.

And then he sees Sam -- vulnerable Sam from Mission City, strong Sam from the base, broken Sam from now. Wide brown eyes filled with tears, a lithe body on the verge of collapse that had practically folded into this arms in search of sanctuary. The taste of milk and syrup of his lips and bitter metal of his skin. And he knows that his words are not a lie -- that he really wants to help the other man currently resting on his bed.

"I will."

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**_To be continued_**

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_Okay, so it's going to be five parts with a sequel. Next chapter VERY high rating, please. O.O Will undoubtedly go on AFF. Or LiveJournal. Whichever._

_Drop a review and let me know what you thought, please!_

_Always,_

_Me_


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